


let's not be shy

by mlle



Series: folk singers au [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Feelings, Food Kink, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Mild D/s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 04:21:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2637869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mlle/pseuds/mlle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s 8:32pm on a Thursday in midtown Manhattan, and Grantaire is waiting for Enjolras in the lobby of the Grand Central Westin. For a date.</p>
<p>Not even their first date.</p>
<p>And Enjolras is kind of late.</p>
<p>Grantaire’s not sure which of these things is more unbelievable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let's not be shy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goshemily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goshemily/gifts).



> aka the folk singers epilogue
> 
> aka 6300 words of porny feelings or feelingsy porn

It’s 8:32pm on a Thursday in midtown Manhattan, and Grantaire is waiting for Enjolras in the lobby of the Grand Central Westin. For a date.

Not even their first date.

And Enjolras is kind of late.

Grantaire’s not sure which of these things is more unbelievable. 

He tries not to fidget against the expensive-smelling leather couch, tries not to draw the attention of the desk clerks or the tourists coming and going. He checks his phone again. No messages. 

8:33pm.

Grantaire rubs his palms together, then rubs them on the knees of his jeans. He’s about to panic-text Eponine when a glint of blond hair catches his eye.

Enjolras walks through those big glass doors, and the lobby lights up instantly. 

Grantaire feels his face break into a huge, dopey smile. “You’re late,” he says when Enjolras approaches.

“I’m not late,” Enjolras counters immediately. He’s smiling too, but weakly. His brow is heavy. 

“You are! You’re, like, 3 minutes late. What a precedent to set. What a betrayal. I may never trust again.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras says.

“Don’t give me that look. I’m heartbroken. Ruined. Distraught. My rock, my anchor, the solid foundation upon which I rest.” Grantaire throws his weight melodramatically back against the couch. “And he’s late.”

Enjolras just waits until Grantaire’s nervous grandiosity plays itself out.

How has he gotten to know every tick and habit so well, Grantaire wonders to himself. Had Enjolras been taking notes all summer? That’s embarrassing.

His mind threatens to trip back through those strange months on the road, and Grantaire has to consciously stop himself. The tour, and the mistakes made therein, are done now. Enjolras has been in New York for nearly 3 weeks, and after some initial miscommunication, things have been good. They’ve been good. Really good, even.

Grantaire is only half-waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Old habits, you know.

Now he stands. He isn’t sure how to greet Enjolras in private, let alone here in the spacious and gleaming lobby of a pricey hotel.

Enjolras, ever guileless, leans forward and gives him a simple kiss.

Grantaire smiles again. “So what were you thinking for dinner?” he asks.

Enjolras looks down, then back up. “How do you feel about room service?”

Grantaire gulps. His gaze flicks to the bank of elevators lining one wall. “You mean,” he says. 

“I don’t want to go out.” 

Grantaire would laugh at the line, but nothing in Enjolras’s demeanor is flirtatious. He’s serious, instead, weighted by something. 

He catches hold of Grantaire’s hand and tugs him to an elevator. 

They’ve had so much sex at this point that it’s completely ridiculous for Grantaire to be nervous about being in Enjolras’s hotel room. And yet here he is, perched on the very edge of a very large bed, fingers tapping out an awkward beat against his thighs. 

Either Enjolras doesn’t notice, or he is very politely ignoring Grantaire’s jitters. Instead he unearths the room service menu, finds out what Grantaire wants—pancakes, naturally—and calls in the order. His voice sounds tired.

When Enjolras hangs up the phone, Grantaire tries consciously to still himself. He flexes his hands on his thighs. Then he thinks better of it and wedges them underneath himself. “How was your day?” he asks.

Enjolras blinks his attention back to Grantaire. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but then just huffs out a long breath. “Not good.”

Grantaire frowns. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I just—” Enjolras stops himself. “Bad day with the label. Compromises, principles, et cetera. I’d rather not talk about it.”

Grantaire squeezes his fingers into his thighs. No wonder Enjolras looks so weighted down. “I can go, I mean, if you’d rather be alone,” he says. 

Enjolras shakes his head. “No, it’s okay.”

“Seriously,” Grantaire persists. “If you’re not into it tonight, or whatever, we can—”

Enjolras reaches his hand out and wraps it around Grantaire’s wrist. “Please,” he says. “You don’t have to go. I don’t want you to go.”

“Okay,” Grantaire says. 

He waits for Enjolras to let go, but he doesn’t. Grantaire pulls his own fingers out from under his thigh. Enjolras’s hand follows the motion, still clasping to Grantaire’s wrist, and then slides up to his elbow. Grantaire tries not to shiver at the heat from Enjolras’s palm. 

He fails.

“Come here,” Enjolras says quietly, tugging lightly at Grantaire’s arm. 

Grantaire goes. He can’t imagine a time when he wouldn’t. But instead of the kiss he expects, Enjolras presses his face into the crook of Grantaire’s neck. He breathes deeply, and Grantaire can feel it where Enjolras chest is kind of leaned into his arm. 

They sit like that for a long moment, Enjolras just breathing and Grantaire trying to match the rhythm with his own breath. 

Grantaire’s just gotten into the swing of it, willing the tension out of his body and out of Enjolras’s too, when Enjolras pulls his head back just far enough to make eye contact. His gaze is appraising. It makes Grantaire feel flush, heat racing down his torso and right into his groin. 

Enjolras’s hands come up to rest at the back of Grantaire’s neck. His fingers slide gently into Grantaire’s hair. It’s a familiar sensation by this point, but still an intense one. Grantaire feels it like a signal, like a sign. He’s half-hard already, just at that, tracking Enjolras’s mouth with his eyes, unconsciously wetting his own lips and leaving them parted.

But Enjolras just pets him for a moment. When he doesn’t ask, he waits—Grantaire knows this now. Enjolras’s silence isn’t unfeeling, and his brusqueness isn’t meant to be cruel. He likes consent. 

Grantaire loves that about him. Even when it unbalances them, even when it leaves Grantaire feeling unsure of himself or the situation. 

Well, he’s not unsure just now, he tells himself. The hands in his hair settle him, soothe his nerves—which were ridiculous to begin with, he’s not saying they weren’t—and make him want.

Grantaire wants like a thing that knows nothing but wanting.

Mouth still parted, lips still wetted, he leans in and presses a light kiss to Enjolras’s top lip. 

Enjolras hums his approval and holds Grantaire close. 

He presses a matching kiss to Enjolras’s bottom lip, which is fuller and softer and easier to suck between his teeth and bite, just barely. Enjolras’s fingers tighten in Grantaire’s hair and he can’t help but smile at this. It’s how he knows he’s doing well, doing what Enjolras wants. 

The soft bite becomes a soft kiss, and then a deeper one. Grantaire cups Enjolras’s shoulder blade, feeling the bone move through his soft t-shirt as he tugs Grantaire closer still. Enjolras pulls until they are unbalanced, flopping back against the bed gracelessly and pulling Grantaire with him. 

It takes a moment of awkward shifting for Grantaire to rearrange his legs in a comfortable way, and just when he’s gotten it right, Enjolras pushes and rolls, reversing them. He straddles Grantaire easily in the center of the ridiculously large hotel bed. 

“Hey,” Enjolras says down at him. 

“Hi,” Grantaire says back.

Enjolras pushes a hand through Grantaire’s thick curls. It’s like he can never get enough of touching them, Grantaire thinks dimly, as Enjolras presses their groins roughly together and leans down to kiss Grantaire again. The hand in his hair stays put, fingers pressing and rubbing through the soft strands at Grantaire’s skull.

Grantaire feels himself tensing to roll, to rub his hips up against Enjolras the best he can. His hands grip Enjolras’s sides, fingers flexing against firm skin, and Grantaire smiles to himself as they find a rhythm. He’s hard between them, feels Enjolras hard too through layers of fabric. They should do something about that, Grantaire thinks. They should—

There’s a loud knock at the door. 

Grantaire freezes. 

“Be right back,” Enjolras says with a quick nip to his ear, before climbing off the bed and answering the door.

Grantaire groans aloud. He’d forgotten about the room service. 

The hotel attendant doesn’t even spare a look at Grantaire pressed into the bed, obviously hard in his jeans. She rolls the cart full of food inside, says “You’re welcome” to Enjolras, takes her tip, and closes the door gently behind her. 

Grantaire closes his eyes for just a moment, focuses on the fleeting feeling of Enjolras’s tongue on his own.

When he rolls himself up to sit at the edge of the bed, Enjolras is staring at him, his lower lip caught in his teeth. Grantaire raises his eyebrows. “How’s it look?” he asks, nodding to the food.

Enjolras doesn’t look away. “Delicious,” he says.

They eat on the bed, balancing plates on pillows and trading bites of pancakes and Enjolras’s omelet. 

Grantaire has little more than a pile of berries left on his plate when Enjolras sets his fork down and looks over intently. “What?” Grantaire asks.

Enjolras looks back to his own plate. He takes a big bite of omelet, eyes down as he chews and swallows slowly. 

Grantaire watches him. Watches his throat. The tug of desire in his gut wars with a flicker of worry.

Finally, Enjolras looks back up. “I want to ask you something,” he says.

“Okay.”

“But I don’t want you to freak out.”

Grantaire laughs. “With a set-up like that,” he says wryly.

Enjolras laughs too. “You’re right. It’s just… something I’ve been thinking about for a while. I haven’t been able to figure out how to say it.”

Grantaire can see the nervousness in Enjolras’s shoulders, how they’re held just a little more tense than usual. He tries not to let his own panic encroach. He pops a blueberry into his mouth and feigns bravado. “Is this about how you want to tie me down and have your way with me?”

“It’s actually not,” Enjolras says.

Grantaire’s not ready for anything more complicated than that. He’s especially not ready to have the conversation about what they’ll do when Enjolras leaves New York in less than a week. 

He forms his mouth into an exaggerated pout. “Can it be about that instead?” 

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “We’re going to talk about the future sooner or later, you know.”

Grantaire nods. “I choose later.” He reaches out to poke Enjolras in the leg. “You got me all the way up to your room. You laid me out on your bed. I want to go back to that. Please? Can we go back to that?”

“Fine,” Enjolras sighs fondly. “We can table serious stuff for now.”

“I take you dominating me very seriously,” Grantaire says.

“Fair point,” Enjolras concedes. “We can table less sexy stuff for now.”

“I’m good with that.”

“But tomorrow…?”

“What about next week?”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras says, frowning.

 A chill goes through Grantaire at the serious set of Enjolras’s mouth. He shivers, just a little. 

“Why are you trying to put this off?” Enjolras continues.

Grantaire shrugs a bit. Hardly even noticeable. “I’m,” he says. He bites his lip. “Worried. Whatever.”

“Oh,” Enjolras says. “It’s not bad. I promise it’s not anything bad. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Tomorrow, then?”

Grantaire pauses, then shrugs. “We can do it tonight,” he says, casting his glance away from Enjolras.

“Are you sure?” Enjolras rests his hand lightly on Grantaire’s knee. 

Grantaire looks at his hand, at the long fingers and well-shaped knuckles. “It’s important to you?” he asks.

“It is.”

Grantaire lets out a long breath. “Then, yeah, I’m sure.” He looks up to see Enjolras smiling at him softly.

“Will you,” Enjolras starts. His fingers squeeze a little on Grantaire’s leg. “I mean. We’re leaving next month to do a European tour, I think I mentioned it?” He waits for Grantaire to nod. “Spain, France, Germany, pretty much all over. And we were wondering. I mean, I was wondering.”

Grantaire puts his hand on top of Enjolras’s. His fingers jump a little. 

“Would you open for us again?” Enjolras breathes out all in a rush. 

Grantaire absolutely cannot help the laugh that bubbles up. He laughs while Enjolras stares at him. He puts his head into his hands and laughs until his sides threaten to hurt.

“Um,” Enjolras says. 

“Oh my god,” Grantaire says. “That’s all? That’s what you wanted to ask?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras says slowly.

“You’ve been waiting weeks to ask me that?”

“Well, I wasn’t sure— why do you always laugh—”

Grantaire takes Enjolras’s hand again, across their mostly-empty plates and the fluffy pillows. “I’d love to,” he says, nervous overflow laughs fading now into a big grin. 

Enjolras’s face lights up with a smile of his own. 

“But you’d better be ready for all that entails,” Grantaire says. “I’m not an easy person to travel with. I drink, I pine, I lie around at all hours of the day and night. I’m habitually late to soundcheck. You might not want to see me that long, for that uninterrupted of a stretch. You might tire—”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras says again. “Stop that.”

“Oh,” Grantaire says with a lift of his brows. “Are we to the domination portion of the evening? Now that we have this sorted, can we talk about that?”

 “Yes,” Enjolras says. “Now we can talk about how I want to tie you down.”

“And have your way with me?” Grantaire prompts.

Enjolras smiles despite himself. “That too.”

“Where should we begin?”

Enjolras unlaces his hand from Grantaire’s and picks his fork back up. “First, I’m going to finish eating. And we’re going to talk about how this should go.”

Grantaire nods his head exaggeratedly. “And me?” he asks.

Enjolras thinks for a moment. “If you’re done, you can put your plate on the tray.”

Grantaire complies immediately, standing to set his plate of fruit on the hotel tray just out of reach. He feels Enjolras’s eyes, heavy on him as he moves. “And?” he says.

“And you can sit back down where you were,” Enjolras answers, tucking into the last of his omelet. 

Grantaire tries to wait patiently while Enjolras eats. More than that, he tries not to think about what they’d just agreed to—not sex, but several more weeks on the road together. Together like they are now. Grantaire didn’t want to lose Enjolras when he left, but his objections are more than just a joke. What if Enjolras gets tired of him? What if it goes as badly as last time? The dive bars of Europe are quite a different place to be stuck together, and a regular tour has far fewer people to act as buffer than a summer festival.

“Stop worrying,” Enjolras says, voice breaking through Grantaire’s inner monologue. “We’ll deal with practicalities tomorrow. For now,” Enjolras continues as he prepares another forkful of eggs, “tell me what you want.”

Grantaire swallows. “I already said. Tie me down, have your way.”

Enjolras hums a little. “Can you be more specific for me?”

Grantaire watches him eat another bite. His nervousness has dropped away, it seems, replaced by that fine grain control of every muscle, every movement. He looks—he looks fucking casual, sitting there eating, asking Grantaire to detail his fantasies. “I… don’t know?”

Enjolras chews his bite, swallows it, then sets down his fork. “That’s okay. I’ll start, and we can go from there. I don’t actually have anything here to tie you down with—not safely anyway, not like I’d want to. But we can work around that. I can still control your movements, if you want. I can make you keep still.” He pauses for a moment. “I like light painplay usually, not much beyond spanking. But I don’t think that’s right for tonight.” Enjolras cocks his head. “I don’t want to hurt you, not tonight. I want to make you feel good.”

Grantaire huffs a nervous half-laugh. “That sounds nice,” he says. “But what do I— I mean, I need to— What do I do for you?”

Enjolras’s face registers just a tiny bit of surprise. “Are you talking about reciprocity, or service?” he asks.

Grantaire tries not to let his jaw drop. They’ve had a lot of sex, yeah, and Enjolras is always forthright, but this is something new. “Uh,” he says, searching.

“If it’s just reciprocity, well. I can tell you what I get out of it,” Enjolras continues. “I had a shitty day. I want to leave it behind. You being here at all helps, but if we do this,” he gestures between them with a graceful hand, “that’s better. For me. It gets me out of my head. But only if we’re on the same page about it. And,” he finishes, “I think you’d submit beautifully.”

Grantaire’s body feels warm. So warm, as if Enjolras were already touching him. He feels emboldened by Enjolras’s easy words. “I definitely think we’re on the same page,” he says. “But I need to make you feel good too. I mean tangibly. I need you to— I don’t know, tell me what to do for you. Don’t let me mess up.”

“You won’t,” Enjolras says, shaking his head. “You won’t, and I won’t let you.” He picks up his empty plate, unfolds his long legs to stand and set it on the tray. Then he turns back to Grantaire. “I’m going to keep checking in with you, though. I’ll ask your color. Green means you’re good and we can continue. Yellow means slow down, or take a short break. And red means we stop everything immediately, okay?”

“Okay, but—”

Enjolras nods. “More specifically it means we stop what we’re doing and skip to aftercare,” he says, already answering the question Grantaire couldn’t get out. “I get you water, we talk through what happened. It doesn’t mean we stop and you have to leave.” Enjolras pauses. “You’re good to stay here tonight, right?”

Grantaire braces a hand on the bed. “Yeah.”

“Good.” He fixes Grantaire with a look. “Then I’m going to start, okay?”

“Okay,” Grantaire breathes. 

“Can you close your eyes for me?” Enjolras asks. His voice is different, somehow, just like that. Deeper, lower, softer but completely in command. 

Grantaire feels a spike of excitement. “Sure,” he says, immediately dropping his eyelids. He hears Enjolras moving around, then feels the bed dip as he sits down.

“Open your mouth,” Enjolras instructs. 

Grantaire does as he’s told, automatically, feeling the air rush in over his lips and then tongue. He hadn’t heard Enjolras’s zipper, was pretty sure Enjolras is fully seated next to him, so for the space of a few moments, he’s completely unsure what to expect. 

Then Enjolras puts one hand to the side of Grantaire’s jaw, and with the other, sets a plump raspberry on his tongue. He coaxes Grantaire’s jaw closed with his hand. “Chew for me, then swallow,” Enjolras says. 

The raspberry floods Grantaire’s mouth with a taste so tart it tingles. He chews and swallows dutifully, and then opens his mouth again. 

“Good boy,” Enjolras tells him.

It makes his breath catch in his throat.

Next is a large strawberry, and Enjolras keeps his fingers at Grantaire’s mouth as he bites just under its top. He presses his fingers to Grantaire’s closed lips when he chews, and then lightly to the side of his throat as he swallows the strawberry down. Grantaire makes a noise somewhere between a hum and a whine. 

When he opens his mouth this time, Enjolras strokes one finger over Grantaire’s tongue. After the fruit, his skin tastes salty, and Grantaire raises his hand up, seeking an anchor point. He finds Enjolras’s wrist with his eyes still closed, and wraps his fingers around it. His mouth hangs open still. Enjolras slides his finger back and forth over the thick muscle waiting there. 

Grantaire cracks his eyes open only to find Enjolras is very, very close to him. He pulls his hand away from Grantaire’s mouth, replacing his finger with his tongue even as he slides his hand down and away, through Grantaire’s loosely clasped fingers. The kiss is hot and messy. Enjolras licks slowly over Grantaire’s tongue, into his mouth. 

They kiss like that for long moments, Grantaire just following the brush of tongues, the press and give. 

Then Enjolras pulls away, and Grantaire flutters his eyes open.

“Take your clothes off,” Enjolras says simply. 

Grantaire scrambles up to comply, dropping pieces of clothing to the floor carelessly. He is hard, and his face burns a little at Enjolras’s silent gaze. Grantaire reaches to fist his own cock, then doubts himself, doubts whether that is allowed. He fidgets his hands awkwardly, waiting for his next instruction.

Enjolras just watches him for a moment.

Grantaire is about to speak, to plead—he’s barely been touched but he is ready to beg—when Enjolras stands. “Come here,” he says.

“What should I—”

“Take my clothes off,” Enjolras answers automatically. “Slowly, please. Then strip the sheets back and lie down in the middle of the bed. Face up.”

Grantaire complies. It’s easy, with such clear instructions. He skims his palms over Enjolras’s skin as he works, but he doesn’t tease. He doesn’t take any liberties. He does as he’s told, discarding Enjolras’s clothes before pulling back the ridiculously fluffy comforter to reveal the flat, firm mattress beneath. He lies down, face to the ceiling, unsure where to put his hands. He rests them lightly on his thighs, resisting the urge to dig his fingers in. 

Grantaire turns his head on the pillow to watch Enjolras watching him. He stands proudly, hand lightly tugging his cock as his eyes rake Grantaire’s prone form. 

“What’s your color?” Enjolras asks. 

Grantaire flexes his fingers, rolls his eyes. “Green,” he says. “We’ve barely even—”

“Just checking,” Enjolras interrupts. Again. “That’s all I needed. Thank you.”

The bed isn’t so big that Enjolras can’t reach Grantaire from pretty much every side. Now he walks to the foot of it, hand still playing idly over his own erection. 

Grantaire’s cock, meanwhile, strains in place. He couldn’t even explain why he’s so turned on by this, by following Enjolras’s orders. 

“Can you close your eyes again?” Enjolras asks softly.

Grantaire takes a deep breath as his lashes hit his cheek. The hotel room’s white walls and white sheets, and Enjolras’s pale hair, are replaced by the blackness behind Grantaire’s eyelids. 

“That’s good,” Enjolras says. “Keep breathing like that, deeply.”

Grantaire flinches from surprise when Enjolras’s fingers touch the top of his right foot. His breath stutters. Enjolras wraps his hand around Grantaire’s ankle and holds it tightly. 

“Breathe,” he says.

Grantaire presses all the air out of his lungs, then feels his chest expand as he breathes back in. Enjolras’s thumb sweeps behind his ankle bone, gently, in time to his breath. Then Enjolras tugs Grantaire’s leg to the side, just enough to leave him feeling exposed. The hand runs up the inside of Grantaire’s leg, pushing the knee into a slight bend. 

While Grantaire keeps breathing, Enjolras’s hands arrange his left leg in much the same way. Grantaire feels his presence move to the side of the bed. Then one hand lingers for a moment in the hollow of his left hipbone, thumb rubbing back and forth at the soft skin there. Grantaire breaks out in goosebumps at the cold air between his legs, at the new space he feels where Enjolras has arranged him.

The hands track up his ribcage, skimming the goosebumps until Grantaire shivers. They fit their way under his arms and push until he has no choice but to raise his arms over his head. Grantaire can sense Enjolras close to him. His hands press Grantaire’s wrists into the pillows.

The bed dips, and suddenly Enjolras is kissing Grantaire again. He barely notices the hands leave his wrists, he’s so caught up in Enjolras licking into his mouth and nibbling gently on his lower lip.

His arms stay up. His legs stay spread. When Enjolras pulls away, his eyes stay closed. His skin remembers the brush of hands that put him in place, and nothing in him wants to undo that work.

“Open your eyes,” Enjolras says quietly. 

Grantaire does. He blinks to the ceiling, feeling hazy. 

“You’re so quiet,” Enjolras comments. He’s kneeling next to Grantaire, hand sweeping over Grantaire’s elbow, down the sensitive flesh of his arm, to the top of his ribcage, and then back up again.

Grantaire licks his lips. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to make noise,” he says, slowly. 

“It’s okay,” Enjolras tells him. “You can make noise.” His hand sweeps down again, thumb finding Grantaire’s nipple and circling it. “Especially for this next part.”

It’s not that Enjolras is suddenly everywhere—he moves just as slow and steadily as he did before. But Grantaire suddenly _feels_ him everywhere. He mouths at Grantaire’s collarbone and it echoes deep into Grantaire’s chest. He runs his tongue up Grantaire’s underarm, and nerves that seem to wrap around Grantaire’s ribcage feel the spike of pleasure. 

He moans with it now, having been given permission, but Enjolras seems to pay no heed. He spends his time where he pleases, kissing and sucking lightly at Grantaire’s exposed flesh. Enjolras’s mouth spends long moments on a spot just under Grantaire’s ribs, until skin that at first seemed no more sensitive than anything else becomes a tender pressure point, making Grantaire arch and cry out as it’s teased.

Enjolras’s hands continue to skim Grantaire’s surface too. He lifts his mouth from Grantaire’s torso to let his deft fingers trace the contours of Grantaire’s hips, his inner thighs, and then finally, after painfully long teasing, his cock.

Grantaire moans wantonly when Enjolras forms a loose circle with his hand and envelopes Grantaire in just a fraction of his warmth.

“Good boy,” Enjolras murmurs again. 

This time, it makes Grantaire shiver all over.

“I’m so glad you like being praised,” Enjolras tells him conversationally. 

Grantaire feels himself flush through the chest and neck. He turns his head away, biting at his bottom lip. 

The hand leaves Grantaire’s cock as Enjolras levers himself up to Grantaire’s face. He sets a hand on Grantaire’s cheek, turning his head so they’re looking straight at each other.

“Hey, you don’t have to hide,” Enjolras says. “I mean what I said.” He rolls his hips until Grantaire can feel the proof of his words, the erection hanging heavy between his legs. 

“Sorry,” Grantaire says.

“It’s okay,” Enjolras replies. “As long as you don’t want me to stop?” 

Grantaire shakes his head emphatically. “No, you can— I do like it.” Enjolras’s erection smears a little pre-come on Grantaire’s hip, and he can’t help but thrust back, dragging more of their skin together.

“Mmm, good,” Enjolras says. “Then I’ll keep going. But I want to hear you.” His hand snakes under a pillow on the far left side of the bed, and comes back with a bottle of lube. He resumes his place between Grantaire’s legs. “Stay still, though, okay?”

“Okay,” Grantaire breathes as Enjolras strokes over his cock again. More pressure this time, and Grantaire plays up his moan just a little. 

Enjolras brings his head over Grantaire’s groin, and he braces himself for the warm mouth he expects to feel. But at the last minute, Enjolras veers down to drag his tongue wantonly over Grantaire’s testicles.

The groan that’s startled from him this time is all real. 

Enjolras sucks lightly on the flesh there, then slowly, teasingly, runs his tongue into the seam of Grantaire’s thigh. His hands press Grantaire’s legs open even further, and he mouths at the swell of skin that’s not quite thigh, not quite ass. Right into Grantaire’s skin, he says, “Talk to me. Tell me how this feels.”

“Your nose tickles,” Grantaire replies instantly. 

“That’s all?”

Grantaire hums. “Your mouth is warm. Warmer than your hand,” he says. “And I know what you’re going to do. Or what I think you’re going to do. And I just— Christ, you’re such a tease. I want you to move over a couple of inches and— I want to feel—”

“What?” Enjolras says, in between swipes of his tongue at the back of Grantaire’s pressed apart thigh.

“I want your tongue,” Grantaire says in a rush. “I want to feel how hot your mouth is, I want you to open me up with your tongue.”

Enjolras licks a small stripe up the thin skin of Grantaire’s perineum, and then trails it back down until it reaches its goal. 

Grantaire moans loudly. “Oh god,” he says as Enjolras starts to lick. “Just like that. Your mouth is warm. How are you always so warm? The rest of me feels so much colder, it’s like, uhhh, fuck, it’s like this one spot of perfect focus, it’s like I can’t feel anything other than your mouth. Fuck, why does that feel so good?”

Enjolras pulls away, trailing his fingers over the now wet skin. “It’s a sensitive place,” he says. His fingers tease Grantaire’s rim, pressing but not yet pushing in. 

When Grantaire presses back against him, Enjolras uses his free hand to steady his hip.

“Keep still,” Enjolras tells him. “And keep talking.”

“What should I…” Grantaire starts, but trails off in another breathy moan.

“How are your arms?” Enjolras asks.

“Good,” Grantaire says. “They’re good. It’s weird, I feel. I don’t know, heavy. I don’t want to move anywhere but where you’re touching me.”

“That’s good,” Enjolras says, “but try to stay still.”

“I will,” Grantaire promises. 

Enjolras pops the cap on the lube and drips it, straight from the bottle, onto Grantaire’s exposed upper thigh. 

“Ahhh,” Grantaire doesn’t quite shriek. “That’s cold.”

“It’ll warm up,” Enjolras says. 

“It better,” Grantaire responds.

Enjolras smacks his hip playfully. Then he drags his fingers through the lube now dripping down Grantaire’s leg, and uses them to spread it between his cheeks. Then, so so slowly, he presses one finger past the tight ring of muscle and into Grantaire.

“Ohhh,” Grantaire says. “Oh, please, please.”

“Yeah?” Enjolras encourages.

“Yes,” Grantaire says hotly. “Fuck. Yes. I’ve been waiting for this, waiting for you— you inside me.” Enjolras presses in and pulls back out. He sets a slow rhythm, and Grantaire feels the words start to pour out of himself at the same pace. “It’s so good, you’re so warm, even your hands are warm and I can feel it, I can feel you, just like that, fuck, I love your hands.” His words stutter when Enjolras pushes a second finger inside, but he picks back up the thread. “So perfect, how are you so perfect, I feel like, like, nothing has ever felt like this, and ohhh god, that’s it,” as Enjolras rubs a finger over his prostate, “just there, don’t stop, please, please don’t stop, please never, I can’t, I can’t—”

Grantaire’s breath is ragged as he breaks off. Enjolras watches him quietly, watches his own fingers fucking Grantaire open, watches Grantaire heave for breath.

“Enjolras,” he practically whines, “please, I need more, I need you, I lo— fuck.” He brings his hands down to his face, and Enjolras immediately stills. 

“What’s your color?” he asks.

“Yellow,” Grantaire says from behind his hands. Enjolras pulls his fingers out of Grantaire immediately, wiping them quickly on his own leg. “Shit, sorry,” Grantaire says, face still hidden.

“It’s okay,” Enjolras tells him. He rests his hand lightly on Grantaire’s thigh. “Tell me what you need.”

“I don’t know.” He pulls his hands down sheepishly. “It’s just, it was a lot. I need a minute.”

“Take your time,” Enjolras says. 

Grantaire sits up, and tries to slow his breathing while Enjolras waits. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “It’s— I don’t know if I can handle being the focus like that? It’s kind of overwhelming. I’d rather, I mean, I need to do something. Can I do something, please? Let me do something for you.” He can’t even imagine what his face looks like, still flushed red, eyes pleading with Enjolras to be allowed to— what? Grantaire would do anything he asked right now, anything except accidentally cross their one unspoken line, babble his feelings, and in the midst of getting fucked.

He can’t do that.

But. “I need to do something,” he says again. “Tell me what to do.”

Enjolras hums thoughtfully. He climbs off the bed and offers Grantaire a hand. “Come here,” he says simply.

Grantaire lets himself be tugged up to standing, lets himself be lead over the windows that take up one entire wall of the hotel room. Enjolras drapes an arm casually over Grantaire’s shoulder, tucks him into his side, and then gestures out at the city.

“What do you think of our view?” he asks. 

“It’s… nice?” Grantaire answers.

Enjolras’s eyes scan the skyline, the dark night sky, the lights. “I like it,” he says. “It reminds me of you.”

Grantaire gives a little laugh. “Why?”

“You’re from here, right? So when I think about New York, I think about you.” Enjolras looks over, presses a kiss to the top of Grantaire’s head. “And being this high up, being able to see without being seen? It’s kind of like your van.”

Grantaire shakes his head, his curls brushing at Enjolras’s shoulder. “You are such an exhibitionist.”

Enjolras shrugs. “Not really. I like the idea of being seen, not actually having it happen.”

Grantaire’s lips purse with thought. “I don’t know the word for that,” he says.

Enjolras kisses his twisted up mouth. “It doesn’t matter,” he says hotly. The next kiss is longer. Enjolras holds Grantaire by the jaw, guiding first his head and then his entire body to turn, press up against the glass. Grantaire hisses as his shoulder blades touch the cold surface, but Enjolras keeps hold of him, keeps nipping his lips and then tonguing over them. 

“Color?” Enjolras asks.

“Green,” Grantaire breathes. “But can I—”

The hands that turn Grantaire toward the window are firm and warm, and they move with assurance. Grantaire rests his forehead against the glass. He shivers when Enjolras runs his hands slowly, reverently, down Grantaire’s naked back. The hands slide over Grantaire’s ass, down to his inner thighs, and they push until Grantaire is forced to spread his legs. 

Then Enjolras settles one hand on his hip, and pushes the fingers of his other hand right back into Grantaire in one long, steady thrust.

Grantaire can’t help the noise he makes. Enjolras nips at the back of his neck and pushes in harder, encouraging. 

“Let me fuck you right here,” he says softly. “That’s what you can do for me.”

“Okay,” Grantaire concedes. 

It only takes seconds for Enjolras to pull his fingers out, line himself up, and press into Grantaire. He drapes his weight along Grantaire’s back, still mouthing at the back of his neck. 

Grantaire moans, presses back onto Enjolras the best he can. His hands brace against the window pane. His eyes track the traffic down below them, the city unable to be still, but Grantaire’s thoughts about it are distant at best. Everything is the feel of Enjolras against him, Enjolras inside of him. 

Enjolras picks up speed quickly, right up to a nearly punishing pace, and Grantaire has to get his hands on the window to brace himself. He couldn’t touch his dick if he wanted to, not and keep his balance, and somewhere he thinks that was probably Enjolras’s plan. 

Behind him, Enjolras’s rhythm starts to stutter. He buries his face in the juncture between Grantaire’s shoulder and neck, and huffs out a long, pleased breath as he comes. 

They stay like that for a long moment, just breathing together, Grantaire vaguely watching taxis on the street below. He’s hard, and warm, and he wants to come, but it’s okay. He can wait.

He doesn’t have to wait that long. Soon Enjolras slides himself out. The hands on Grantaire’s hips spin him around, press his back to the glass again. Enjolras steps into his space, bracketing his body. Grantaire leans his head back as Enjolras gets a hand around his cock. Their skin brushes together at all these points—knees and hips and shoulders—and the tickle of skin on skin lights Grantaire up everywhere as Enjolras jerks him. 

It’s not slow but it’s not fast, and Grantaire just buzzes with it.

“Can I?” he finally thinks to ask.

“Yeah, come on,” Enjolras half whispers, and then Grantaire is coming over his hand, over both their stomachs.

Grantaire feels deliciously afterglowy as Enjolras pushes him into the hotel bed and retrieves a washcloth to wipe them both down. He hums contentedly. Enjolras hands him water to drink, then sets the bottle on the bedside table, pulls the blanket up from the end of the bed, and climbs in. He turns his face into Grantaire’s shoulder, and it’s so easy for Grantaire to reach out and wrap his arms around him. 

“Mmm,” Grantaire breaths. “I like this.”

“What part?” Enjolras asks, sounding amused.

“All the parts,” Grantaire says with a tiny, joking shove to Enjolras’s shoulder. “But this bed might be the best.”

“We’ll have to start a rating system,” Enjolras says.

“Hmm?”

“For hotel beds. Which are the most comfortable? How do the rooms of Europe compare? Can New York beat Paris?” Enjolras laughs a little at his own joke.

Grantaire rolls his eyes. “Sell out.”

“You’d rather we tour Europe in your van?” Enjolras asks teasingly.

“No,” Grantaire says with a yawn. “Can’t get it across the ocean.”

Enjolras laughs again. He presses a kiss to the top of Grantaire’s head, and then burrows further down into the covers. 

Grantaire feels sleep tugging at him. There’s maybe still a tiny spark of panic underneath—at tomorrow, at making plans, at saying words or almost saying words—but it’s hard to focus on it now. It pulls away from him, like the taxis on the curb in midtown Manhattan. Like taxis everywhere, his sleepy brain supplies. Even Spain. Even France.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! say hi on [tumblr](http://nonnonmodernist.tumblr.com/)?
> 
> title from ani difranco's "shy"


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